“Of course not!” She wished all this was over.
“You see. You mourned him because of the good life you had together. It is only life that has meaning, not death, O foolish child. Here, I will render what aid I can.”
There was a sudden cloud over her mind. She felt something, some energy, something alien, yet warm, kind, not at all threatening there. It was no hypnosis or mind control, merely some sort of reinforcement of what the Gedemondan was saying.
The huge white creature went over to a wall near the gate itself and rubbed off a lot of dust, so much that his arm started turning gray. To her surprise, it was a polished surface, glasslike yet seemingly natural.
“It is solid obsidian,” he told her. “Smoothed and finely polished in the earliest days of this hex. There, now, look into it and tell me what you see.”
Curious, and slightly amused by what seemed like dime-store psychiatry, she walked to it and looked. She saw herself, perfectly reflected in the mirrorlike surface.
“I am suppressing certain neural circuits in your brain,” he told her. “Nothing to do with thought or judgment, but sedating, shall we say, those extraneous matters that always color our thinking. It’s a simple thing, but useful. I doubt if we here could get along without the ability to do it to ourselves when need be. We can teach it to you easily, as it is simply conscious control of something the mind does anyway, but with less success in many cases.”
There were no more nightmares, no more lurking monsters in the shadows of her mind. For some reason she felt freer, clearer-headed than she could ever remember before. It seemed odd that suppressing something in the mind could make it crisper, somehow cleaner.
She looked again at her reflection and thought, almost curiously, That’s me. Face, breast, long, flowing blond hair, down to the golden-haired equine body that seemed perfectly shaped, perfectly suited to the rest, matched, a part of the whole. She had always, somehow, thought of centaurs, Rhone or Dillian, as simply humans with a horse stuck on the back. Now she saw that wasn’t true at all; she was a distinct, logical creature now, one which, in many ways, was far superior to the form in which she had been born. And, she realized, the Gedemondan had been right. The person she remembered wasn’t really her, not any more. It had never really been her. Its physical shape and form, so deliberately assembled so long ago, had been no more authentic than this form she now wore.
And what was form, anyway? Just something that made things harder or easier, depending on how you looked. Inside, where it counted, behind the eyes of those she had felt strongly about, that was truth. All her life, she realized, still looking at the sleek form reflected in the obsidian, she’d been living for the future or mourning the past. Seven years, seven short years so long ago were the only bright, shining jewel. Not because of her accomplishments—she had had them aplenty, and she was proud of them—but because of living, real joy of living.
She turned to the Gedemondan. “Yes, I would like to learn that someday. I think you have a lot to teach the rest of us. Maybe that would be your perfect role.” He nodded. “It will be considered.” She paused a moment more. “I think we’re ready to go now,” she told him at last. She went up to him and hugged him, and if he could have smiled, he certainly would have. Finally she said, “Your people seem so much wiser, so much more advanced than any I have known. I wish more could learn what you know.”
The Gedemondan shrugged. “Perhaps. But, remember, Gedemondans and Dillians both went out into the universe at the same time. Your race survived, grew, built, and expanded. Ours died out.” He gestured at Asam, who walked to and through the blackness of the Zone Gate. She turned and followed him.
The Gedemondan stood there a moment, then walked over and studied his own figure in the clear obsidian. It was a perfect surface and an exact reflection, and it worried him a great deal that there seemed to be an indefinable flaw in it.
The Gedemondan Embassy, Zone
they walked down the corridor, fighting mobs of people, trying to find the correct spot. The masses of humanity were unbelievable, not just to Asam, who hadn’t really visualized what was going on, but also to Mavra. Reality had the abstract beat all to hell.
Much larger than the humans making their way along the corridor, they pretty much had to push their way past. She looked at them as if they were an unknown species. How small and puny and weak they look, she thought.
For their part, the Entries, not yet processed through the Well, stared in mixed wonder and apprehension at the huge centaurs, which were at one and the same time familiar, from their experience with the Rhone, and yet alien as well.
At a particularly tight squeeze Mavra stopped suddenly. Asam looked at her and shouted over the din, “What’s the matter?”
“Just thought I might be missing a bet,” she yelled back. She concentrated hard, trying to get the simple thought into a form this mob could understand. Oddly, she still thought in Com speech; but now what she thought went through some sort of filter in her brain and came out in Dillian. The reverse was true when she heard Dillian spoken, although, as the Gedemondan had shown, she could understand Com speech as well. Thus she could make out the words of this babble but had to concentrate hard to get over the automatic translation. Still, the effect was that she finally started thinking in the native language and she tried to force her mouth to say the Com, rather than Dillian, words.
“I am Mavra Chang!” she shouted. “Remember me?”
Some of the women nearest her heard it, and started repeating the name, which caught on down the line. She started to push on through, every once in a while shouting “Mavra Chang,” the same in both languages. Although her pronounciation was heavily accented, and slightly garbled, they seemed to be getting the message.
It might have been a mistake, and in a lot of cases made it harder to move, for the humans, hearing the name, shouted questions or simply wanted to touch her, confirm her reality. Still, they reached their destination and the hex-shaped door opened to admit them, then closed behind, completely shutting out the din. The sudden silence was almost deafening.
Asam breathed a sigh of relief. “Umph! Gonna be hell gettin’ in and outta here, you know. You sure you did the right thing back there?”
“I wish I could do it for all of them,” she responded without hesitation. “It would make things easier if everybody knew I was a Dillian, knew where to look for me. Still, that little bit will travel up and down the mob and maybe some word will get around.”
“Maybe,” he said dubiously. “And it can’t do a lot of harm, I suppose. After all, we know the enemy knows where to look.”
They looked around the area, which was totally barren, just smooth walls with rounded corners, a smooth floor and nothing else whatsoever.
Asam looked back at the door. “I thought that only opened when willed by a member of the race the embassy was for,” he noted. “That’s how ours works.”
“I think we’re expected,” she told him. “The Gedemondans?” He looked at her accusingly. “Damn it, I still don’t understand how we got here. From goin’ to sleep dead tired back in that cabin I don’t remember nothin’ until we come outta the Zone Gate. Damn it, that wasn’t fair, Mavra!”
She shrugged. “What could I do? They control you, not the other way around. To be truthful, until we were at their gate I don’t remember very much, either. Sort of a hazy, dreamy thing. They have some really remarkable mental powers, Asam. I know we were both pumped for information, but I remember talking with one of them.”
He grumbled a bit under his breath and sighed. “So you didn’t get anything firm, huh? That’s why we’re here at this abandoned embassy?”
She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t the Gedemon-dans. Somebody else called a meeting and they knew about it—how I don’t know. Somebody picked this one because they knew it was empty.”
He looked around glumly. “Don’t look like the party’s started as yet.”
“Then we wait,” she responded. She went over to him, put an arm around his humanoid waist, and squeezed. “There are some very pleasant ways to kill time, you know, and this is a big empty place.”
He looked surprised, but pleased.
Marquoz had very little trouble getting through the mob despite his enormous size. With his red eyes glowing in a demonic skull atop massive muscles, vicious talons, and a spiked armored tail, people fell all over themselves getting out of his way, even the Well World guards who were herding the people through.
He relished the feeling of power it gave him; the Hakazit were large and formidable indeed. Before, humans had considered him cute or exotic, like an unusual pet, and he had had to breathe fire to get his way with them. Now they were literally terrified of him, and he loved it.
The door opened when he reached it—a nice touch, he reflected—and he walked into the bare office.
“Oops! Excuse me!” he muttered and stopped dead. “Looks like I’m interrupting something.”
The two Dillians stopped and turned, startled but not looking in the least embarrassed.
The female relaxed, flexed her body and shook her head a bit to get herself back together, then turned and stared at him.
Marquoz, deciding there was little else to do, stared back. Finally he said, “I could go for a good cigar about now.”
“So could I,” agreed Asam, “but for different reasons. I’m afraid I lost mine back in Gedemondas somewhere.”
“You think you got problems,” the Hakazit grumbled. “The way this damned body’s built I can’t really suck in any more. Suffer.”
The attitude and tone fascinated her with its familiarity. “Marquoz?” she ventured. “Is it really you, Marquoz?”
“At your service, my lady,” he responded, bending a knee a little.
“It’s Mavra, Marquoz. Mavra Chang.”
He chuckled. “Well, well, well. You haven’t changed much since I saw you last. Changed color, but that’s about it.”
Asam looked at her in amazement. “You were a Dillian, before?”
“For a while,” she told him. “Not naturally. Long story.” She turned back to Marquoz. “This is Asam. A native—on our side.”
“On your side, anyway, not to mention back,” the Hakazit responded. “Well, at least I feel like I got the right message. Who issued the invitations?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she told him. “I got mine delivered secondhand by the Gedemondans. You?”
“Messenger. Dropped it off at the embassy for transmission back home. They didn’t indicate much else except the ambassador said it was a Type 41 who delivered it. I figured that was Brazil.”
“Could be. I hope so,” she said without much feeling.
“I have to say you look very well for somebody who’s dead, though,” the Hakazit remarked.
Both the centaurs’ heads snapped up. “What?”
“I mean it,” he told them. “Reports all over a patrol of some little nasties jumped you and cut you up into little pieces.”
“They tried,” Asam responded. “It’ll take more than that to finish either one of us, though.”
“I can believe it,” Maiquoz said approvingly. “Well, that’s a load off my mind anyway.”
“Wait a minute, Marquoz, how’d you get that report? And since when would an ambassador deliver personal messages to you?” Mavra asked.
The huge gray war machine shrugged slightly. “They’re scared to death of the Hakazit secret police—and I’m the head of it. They only thought they had a secret police until I took over. My trips to some of those Com worlds were not in vain. Hell, I’m the first SP chief with guts enough to go out in public.”
She shook her head in wonder and muttered, almost under her breath, “I’m not going to ask. I’m not going to ask.”
“That explains why we can talk,” Asam chipped in, rescuing her. “You have a translator.”
He nodded. “First thing I had done after assuming control. I gather Mavra doesn’t?” When you had one of the little crystalline devices produced by a north-ern hex implanted surgically inside you, it was sometimes hard to tell that others didn’t unless you looked closely and listened even better.
She nodded. “I’m going to need one, though. And soon.”
“Have it done in Dillia.” he cautioned “These things should be put in by people who know your native brain and nervous system. Tell ’em to charge it to the government of Hakazit.”
Asam laughed. “I’ll arrange for it. I was gonna pay for it myself, but thanks for savin’ me the money ” As the supply was drastically limited, the devices cost more than most except high officials could ever afford, and the operations even more.
Marquoz shrugged. “Always glad to spend anybody’s money but my own.” He sounded like ne meant it.
They were about to continue when the door slid open again and in walked a strange, small gray-furred creature The newcomer stopped at the sight of Marquoz and looked around uncertainly.
“Give us your name and we’ll tell you if you’re in the right place,” Mavra told it.
The creature stood up, revealing massive folds of skin connecting all its limbs, and rested slightly on its fanned tail. Its rodentlike face looked uncertainly at them and it chattered something that sounded like clucking and clicking far back in the throat to Mavra.
The other two seemed to understand immediately, and Marquoz responded with, “Well, well, well . . . Welcome to the club, Yua.”
“No translator, either,” Mavra pointed out to the other two.
Marquoz just sighed and said, “Another drain on the Hakazit treasury, then. Oh, well, it’s going to complicate any kind of summit meeting, though.”
“Looks like the gang’s all here,” said a voice behind them. They started and turned. There, in a corner of the room with no entrance or exit and which they all could have sworn had been vacant, stood . . .
“Gypsy!” Marquoz bellowed, and moved toward him.
Gypsy put up his hands. “Easy, Marquoz! You could break my back just saying hello!”
The great battle lizard roared with laughter but hesitated to come closer. Finally he said, “I kind of thought you hadn’t made the trip. You didn’t show up at the other end.”
Gypsy shrugged. “I’m here, and that’s all that counts. And I called this meeting, along with a lot of other meetings.” He paused, seeing their surprise. “You didn’t think you were it, did you? Lots of stuff to get under way. But you’re all vital, particularly now that you’ve survived your initial entry and gotten established.” He grinned at Marquoz. “You most of all. One of these days you’re going to have to explain to me how you did it. Not now, though,” he added hastily, seeing that Marquoz was just itching to tell them all.
“You’ve changed as much as we,” Mavra noted. “Oh, you look the same while we don’t, but your whole manner, your attitude has changed. Even your speech has cleared up. I assume that’s Com speech you’re using?”
He nodded, then took out and lit a cigarette. Since that particular variation of tobacco was unknown on the Well World, more than one of them wondered where he kept getting them.
“Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll come to the point right away,” the mystery man said, pointing to the floor. “You Dillians and Marquoz can look down on me. I’m gonna sit.” And, with that, he sat, legs folded under him, on the floor and idly flicked an ash.
“First of all,” he continued as they drew nearer, “we’re meeting here in the Gedemondan embassy simply because it was one that Ortega had never paid much attention to. He bugged it anyway—don’t ask me how—but a couple of good hired techs from Shamozan and I went over and blanked them. I’m satisfied the place is secure, even though the Shammies are with the other side. I had some of our people check it afterward, just to make sure.”
“What’s this all about, Gypsy?” Marquoz pressed. “I always knew there was something funny about you, but I rather expected you’d sit this one out like you always do. You never liked a fight.”
He nodded. “That’s true, but this is different. I really don’t want to explain a lot right now. I’m more effective this way. But you must believe me when I say that I’m in this not only because I can do certain things, like act as a middleman, that others can’t, but also because I have a personal stake in it all. It’d be easy for all of us if you or Brazil could manage some of the things I can, but you can’t and that’s that. And I can’t teach them to you. Wouldn’t if I wanted to. That, too, we’ll let pass for now. Right now, the important thing is that I’m the only messenger who can get behind enemy lines, get to you wherever you are, and also get to Brazil.”
“Brazil!” It was Yua who made the exclamation at the name. She had no translator and her vocal equipment wasn’t right, but they knew what she meant.
Gypsy nodded. “Yes, he got in. As Ortega has figured out, too late. We did it by the simplest con you could think of. We put him through ahead of all of you. He’s been here more than a month.”
“But that’s impossible!” Mavra exclaimed. “He personally flew us to Serachnus for our trip here. He saw us off! Wished us well! You were there—don’t you remember?”
He grinned. “I’m sorry, we had to trick you. The truth is, he wasn’t there. I played both parts. And, yes, I know you saw us both together. It’s a knack, I admit, but a con all the same. Making you see what I want you to see. It’s a trick a lot of Well World races know, as Colonel Asam will agree.”
“I’ve seen it. After all, I’ve just been held in a hypnotic state against my will for several days.” Asam was still grumpy about that.
Gypsy nodded. “It’s a variation of the way I always used to walk into and out of places, guards or no. Not 100 percent, though—I had Obie’s help in creating a solid-looking and solid-seeming me.”
Mavra’s mouth formed a slight oval. “I’m beginning to catch on now. Obie used to have a lot of little tricks up his sleeve. He did a split, didn’t he, when you went into the machine? A simulacrum based on your pattern emerged and we thought it was you. You, on the other hand, he shot someplace else, probably Olympus.”
“Something like that,” he agreed. “Brazil left even before the final staff meetings. I took his place, masquerading as him. Almost made a bad blunder dropping you off on that God-forsaken rock, too. I kept wanting a cigarette—and Brazil smoked cigars.”
“But why not tell us?” Yua asked, feeling a little like she had been considered untrustworthy.
Gypsy sighed. “We didn’t know what kind of reception you’d get here. We didn’t even know if Brazil had made it. But if he had made it—and he did— then you could have been subjected to all sorts of hypnos, mind probes, anything like that. We needed to buy all the time we could, and that meant counting on you to believe Brazil had not yet appeared and to convey that to anybody who asked. It worked.”
“And when you—that other you—stepped into the Well Gate it simply ceased to exist,” Mavra said thoughtfully. It was becoming clear now. Such creatures, not built around a living being, could not be sustained, which was why the Well World had been built in the first place, and why living prototypes were needed for the re-creation. It didn’t explain how Gypsy, looking like Brazil, had gotten here without being killed, nor why he now looked like his old self. She was about to press that point when he short-circuited it.
“Brazil is ready to move,” he told them. “He is well hidden, I assure you, but once he’s on the move he’s fair game—and Ortega and the rest know that. He’s a little impatient where he is—it’s damned uncomfortable, frankly. We have trusted people in position and all is prepared. Now, I provided the diversion that allowed him to get this far. It’s up to you to play the same game the rest of the way.”